


Everyone's Gay for Gordon 2: the sluttening

by Vituperative_cupcakes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Apology Blowjobs, Bondage, Handcuffs, M/M, S&M, Shockplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3988312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vituperative_cupcakes/pseuds/Vituperative_cupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I apologize for the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone's Gay for Gordon 2: the sluttening

Gordon rattled the handcuffs against the headboard.

“So, the good detective thought he would arrest me? Ahh, I feel I must concur he is quite...arresting himself.”

Buchinsky sat on the edge of the bed. The electrocutioner had traded his jury-rigged setup(and most of his clothes) for a more sleek, streamlined body suit. Now his hands wore gloves that had pads on all the fingertips, the latex of the suit hugged his body in a dangerous way. Gordon caught himself staring and Buchinsky smirked.

“You don't really think you'll get away with this?” he asked.

“My favorite cliché,”

“I thought that was the one where the madman captures someone and ties the to the bed naked,” Gordon replied.

“Admit it, you look good this way.”

Gordon gave a little shrug. He had vowed to be as resistant as possible when this had all begun, but, he realized as Buchinsky walked around the side of the bed, this just excited the madman all the more.

Buchinsky slid his goggles over his eyes, needlessly pulling his gloves a little tighter. Gordon smiled around the apprehension in his stomach.

“I don't suppose I can convince you to come quietly?”

“I don't suppose I can I convince you to do the opposite?”

Gordon's startled laugh sharped into a yelp as Buchinsky held the pan of one glove over his nipple. A mild current, barely bigger than a battery, agitated the sensitive nub to hardness.

“I suppose I should have asked this at the outset,” Buchinsky said nonchalantly, “but you don't have a pacemaker or anything like that?”

Gordon spoke through little gasps, “you should really make your torture victims sign a waiver.”

Buchinsky just shook his head reprovingly and fired up the other glove. Gordon gasped and laughed in frantic bursts as thousands of tinier fingers fanned out from Buchinsky's fingertips, poking and probing and pinching.

Buchinsky smirked and added the fingertips of his other hand, roaming possessively up and down Gordon's torso as the policeman gasped and writhed.

“I've always been fascinated with electricity,” Buchinsky said, deadpan as if he were giving a lecture, “if it could animate a dead frog into life again, what could it do to a live body?”

Gordon opened his mouth to reply, and Buchinsky caught hold of his chin. He used it to turn Jim's face from side to side, peering in his eyes as if examining him. He crooked one finger, and Gordon obediently let his tongue loll out. Buchinsky stroked one fingertip up and down Jim's tongue, staring into his eyes.

“You're a very obedient subject,” he told Jim, “I wonder if you'd be up to...broadening the experiment?”

Gordon took a nerving breath. Then he uncrossed his legs.

His erection jutted up at the ceiling, the voltage in his veins throbbing up and down its length. Buchinsky made soothing noises as he went to grasp it. It didn't help. The second Gordon felt the fizz of the gloves on his cock he cried out, bucking his hips uncontrollably. Buchinsky grasped him tightly, running his other hand down from his neck to his buttocks. Gordon didn't even register the pressure around his cock, all he could focus on was the enthralling tingle as his cock was stroked from a thousand different directions at once. He came too quickly, splattering white on the rubber chest of Buchinsky's gear.

The older man smiled and took off his goggles to examine a white droplet that had escaped there.

“Very satisfactory,” he said, “now shall we try the prostate?”

 

Dent was a hard man to read. Even before Jim got sent away, Dent had seemed all too eager to help one minute, then standoffish the next. The lawyer had not contacted Gordon since his return from guard duty, but an unsigned bouquet of roses had wound up on Jim's desk. The roses were unusually thorny.

“A chick sends a bouquet like that,” the other Harvey pontificated, “she's gotta be tsundere.”

Jim peered around the flowers. “She's a killer tidal wave?”

“No, like those anime chicks. You know, hates your guts on the outside, but secretly pining for you?”

Jim asked the most pressing of all the questions suddenly crowding into his head. “...you watch anime?”

Bullock's recreational habits aside, the behavior was very puzzling. Assuming the flowers really were from Dent, what message were they meant to send? 'Sorry for chickening out and letting you take the fall?' 'I'm into you but not _that_ into you?' 'I want to have crazy sex to make up for betraying you?'

...maybe not that last one.

Jim took it upon himself to visit the attorney's office on afternoon. Dent was just showing some elderly clients out and seemed shocked at Jim's appearance.

“Jim,” he said, “it's so good to see you!” His handshake, clammy and limp, seemed to belie that sentiment.

Jim attempted to smile. “I guess I can say the same.”

Dent smiled manically. “I've been on the case since you've left. I never let the investigation drop, Jim, I just let him think it did.”

“Wow,” Jim said, “thanks.”

Dent was smiling too cheerfully, white-knuckling the edge of the desk.

“You hate me, don't you?” he said.

Jim chuckled. “Hate you? I don't. I can't figure you out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Flowers.”

Dent scrunched his forehead in a good imitation of puzzlement. “Flowers?”

“Flowers usually mean _sorry_ , where I come from,” Jim said, “but you aren't acting sorry.”

Dent's grin fell away from his face.

“Maybe I'm not,” he said lowly.

Jim put a finger to his ear. “Scusi?”

“Maybe you're not as hot as you think you are, James Gordon of the Gotham PD,” Dent said, building up volume with every word, “maybe you shouldn't just expect people to give their all with nothing in return.”

“So this is about reciprocation?” Jim asked.

“This is about people who just expect miracles to fall into their lap,” Dent snapped, “and everyone else taking the risk—”

If Dent wasn't surprised by the hug, it was a damn good impression.

“I missed you, you know?” Gordon asked.

Dent suddenly closed around him like a carnivorous flower.

“You didn't call,” he said miserably, “you didn't give me a chance to explain...or apologize.”

“I'm here now,” Jim said into his ear, squeezing him tightly. “Are you ready to pay penance?”

Dent drew back, eyes large.

He dropped to his knees.

“I'm sorry,” he said, opening Jim's fly, “I'm so sorry. I've been such a bad boy.”

Jim placed a hand atop his head. “Oh really? Show me how sorry you are.”

Dent licked his lips and swallowed Jim down. In his enthusiasm, Jim hit the back of his throat and he choked a little. Dent recovered and then swallowed him down.

Jim braced himself on the desk and gasped. He hadn't been expecting that.

Dent sucked with desperate eagerness as Jim tried to say encouraging things. It was hard to not just moan Dent's name over and over again, especially as his orgasm gushed neatly down Dent's throat.

Dent let Jim slide slowly from his mouth, licking his lips. He was looking up at Jim. Waiting.

Jim smoothed the hair from his forehead.

“You're forgiven,” he said.

Dent smiled.

 

Jim counted out the money. “It's not much, but it should get you far enough.” He also handed over the car keys.

Butch looked down. “It's enough already.”

The two men embraced. Jim could feel the bigger man shaking slightly and tried to press away the uncertainty.

“You run,” he said, “you go to another city and disappear. Stay safe.”

Butch gave Jim a final squeeze and drew away.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I can't do that.”

“Butch...”

“They shot my boss right in front of me,” Butch said, hardening, “the woman responsible for getting me where I am today. They gotta pay, and they're gonna pay.”

Jim looked at him. Since their partnership had begun, the two men had never said anything to compromise the relationship of mob informer and dirty cop. The fact that they enjoyed each other's company immensely had nothing to do with business. Jim couldn't find the words to say what he wanted. Not here.

“I just want you to stay safe,” he said, putting the words unsaid into his eyes.

Butch looked like he might say something else. He kissed Jim instead. And not since that first day in Fish Mooney's bar had they kissed quite so sweetly. For a mafia heavy, Butch could be quite soft and gentle when he wanted to.

They made love for the final time in the backseat. Jim might've preferred somewhere less awkward, but it was either the car or the cold ground. Butch gave no indication that he was in a hurry, taking his sweet time touching Jim as if memorizing his body. Jim found himself clinging to the other man, as if that would stop him leaving.

When Butch drove off, Jim clasped himself and watched the taillights fade.

 

“I just want you to realize, Jim, that you and I are more alike than anyone else in the world.”

Jim tried to wriggle, but he was too tightly strapped down.

“Once you realize that, you will see that we were meant to be together.”

Jason dropped a little kiss on Gordon's thigh before smacking it. Jim jumped accordingly.

“We've both been abandoned by institutions that were supposed to protect us. We're both outcasts. We aren't given the due we deserve.”

Another smack, this time on Gordon's prone cheek.

“And—oh yes, we've both been fucked over by women who claimed to love us.”

Barbara's picture was pinned on the door opposite, stuck through with darts. Next to it was a surveillance photo of Leslie Thompkins engaging in what looked to be a passionate kiss with her.

“You've been wronged, my love. I want to help you. I want to aid you in your revenge. But that can't happen until....”

Gordon couldn't reply. A wad of leather was bound to his mouth. Jason bent down until their faces were level.

“Now Jim,” he said, “if you aren't going to hold up your end of the conversation, I might have to discipline you.”

He gave the clamps on Jim's nipples a little twist. Jim jumped, crying out behind the gag.

He knew the Ogre's profile. He realized that this sadistic play was the only way Jason could show affection. And if he played off of that...

“Would you like that?”

And Jim replied despite the gag. He nodded.

This excited Jason.

“You see?” he exclaimed, “we do understand each other!” And he gave Gordon's rump a slap.

Gordon winced but bore the pain. He had been laid out by mafia thugs, this pain was nothing.

No, he realized as Jason began smacking in earnest, this pain was actually different.

Jason hit with the flat of his hand, despite the discomfort it would obviously cause him after a while. He didn't switch to any of the leather straps on his wall, or the less savory tools. It was all personal.

Jason gave his ass a final slap and then stopped, gasping as if he'd run a long way. Jim saw when he passed that they weren't gasps of exertion but arousal. Jim's erection tented his black leather apron as he wheeled something before Jim's face.

“Look,” he commanded.

Jim obeyed.

There was an angled mirror on the tray, There was a mirror on the ceiling above him. It showed his ass, red and covered with hand prints. Jim was taken with a sudden arousal that simple sex had never been able to breach. He wasn't just a person. He was a coveted object. A possession. A toy.

Jason tenderly stroked his left cheek. “You look good this way, James. Don't you agree?”

Jim nodded.

“ _They_ would never do this for you, would they?”

Jim slowly shook his head.

“There's something else only I can do for you, Jim. I can do it if you trust me. Do you trust me?”

Jim ground his erection into the cold steel of the table and nodded.

“Good.” Jason's face was cool, never betraying anything beyond perfect control. Even as he undid his apron, revealing that he had left his fly deliberately open, Jason did not betray the slightest hint of impatience. Just the fact that he was still fully clothed in an expensive business suit while Jim lay naked and prone before him was exciting.

Jason climbed astride and began grinding into the cleft of Jim's ass. The mirror was still in place, so Gordon could see everything, everything.

Jason dipped his fingers into an open jar of lubricant that had been staring Jim in the face since he'd come to and dabbled at the entrance of Jim's ass. He gripped Jim's cock with the other hand.

“You want this?” he asked.

Jim couldn't nod eagerly enough.

Jason rolled aside, giving Jim a clear view as his ass was penetrated by fingers. It was so raw and carnal Jim had to think of distracting things to keep from coming right then and there.

Jason skillfully stretched him out, not hurting but giving a burning stretch that tingled throughout Jim's body. When he withdrew the fingers, Jim whimpered, grinding his hips again.

“Hold on just one more moment, love. We will be one.”

Jason slicked his cock, not even taking off his suit trousers. Jim had a moment's absurd concern for his dry-cleaning and then Jason entered him. The stretching almost wasn't enough, Jason was huge. But the pain was the same as the spanking earlier. Intimate. Not malicious.

Jason's shuddering sigh as he came to rest, fully sheathed inside the other man, was his only concession to the situation. He let Gordon get adjusted for a moment. Then he drew out and rammed home.

Gordon curled up as much as the straps would let him, moaning. It was pain, it was pleasure, it was the torture of being wanted so much and unable to give enough back.

Jason fucked him roughly, biting his ears and neck as he rode him. Jim's cock was squeezed and stroked without care. He watched the mirror as long as he could, the undulations as Jason ruled his ass, before shutting his eyes and crying out in surrender. Jason brought his come-splattered fingers to Jim's mouth as he slowed to a stop. Once the gag was loosed, Jim sucked on the fingers ravenously. Jason petted him like a dog.

“What are you?” he asked.

Jim gave one last suck.

“Yours,” he replied.

 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this one was so long in writing. Again, continuity is all over the map. Butch's scene is meant to be an alternate version of the Fish/Harvey scene from the show, I don't mean it to be after the finale. as for the others, it's anybody's guess.


End file.
